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***Standing atop a roof, a queue of never ending lights line
the May skyAs a soft cacophony of cars usher from the road below,And a resplendent spectacle of the city one beholds,As torrid heat emanates from within the depths of its soul…It never rests, it seldom sleeps,And, despite being embroiled in a clutter of sordid eventsIt rises to the occasion from its own debrisBecause the show must
go on, however eluding be the remedy.And while we loathe a multitude of cars that cram its roads
every dayAnd lose our mind in the attitude so loud and brazen,There is a certain beckoning in its qawallis and carcass of forts and tombs, and a certain delight in
its street food, Some oases of refuge,
besides its infamous ostentation...
***